A military band was
marshalled upon the little square before the exchange.
It was
preparing to beat the retreat. After the prelude, which was
admirably executed, the tall leader gave a flourish with his stick,
and strode forward up the street, followed by the whole company of
noble looking fellows and a crowd of admiring listeners. The
cymbals clashed, the horns screamed, and the kettle-drum emitted
its deep awful note, till the old rock echoed again, and the
hanging terraces of the town rang with the stirring noise:
"Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub - thus go the drums,
Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes."
O England! long, long may it be ere the sun of thy glory sink
beneath the wave of darkness! Though gloomy and portentous clouds
are now gathering rapidly around thee, still, still may it please
the Almighty to disperse them, and to grant thee a futurity longer
in duration and still brighter in renown than thy past! Or if thy
doom be at hand, may that doom be a noble one, and worthy of her
who has been styled the Old Queen of the waters! May thou sink, if
thou dost sink, amidst blood and flame, with a mighty noise,
causing more than one nation to participate in thy downfall! Of
all fates, may it please the Lord to preserve thee from a
disgraceful and a slow decay; becoming, ere extinct, a scorn and a
mockery for those selfsame foes who now, though they envy and abhor
thee, still fear thee, nay, even against their will, honour and
respect thee.
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